


Holding hands

by Jeanbean1521



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, F/F, Fluff, Smut, possesive Hermione, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26358817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeanbean1521/pseuds/Jeanbean1521
Summary: Hermione gets feelings for her best friend, and foolishly believes that they are not returned...
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 1
Kudos: 164
Collections: Fleurmione Week 2020





	Holding hands

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7 of Fleurmione week! This one didn't have a prompt, it is 'Free'. Hope you like it!

You first meet in school.

When they are laughing at you, and she stands up to insult them for being imbéciles.

And she grabs your hand to lead you outside.

She asks if you’re alright.

You can only look into her azure eyes, which seem to sparkle with a hidden mischievousness. But after she looks even more concerned, you hasten to nod, hoping she hadn’t noticed you staring.

She immediately gets brighter. And she takes you to a park, where you talk aimlessly until you both must go home.

She never let go of your hand.

. . . . . . . .

After that, you have become best friends.

But you cannot help feeling like it is not enough. Thinking about her blonde tresses and azure eyes every passing second.

She continues to hold your hand.

. . . . . . . .

When she lends you her pen after you foolishly used up your own. You beam at her consideration. Because when you had a page full of writing and stopped, everyone thought you were finished. But she passed you a pen without looking up from her own work, as if sensing your distress.

She is the ink to your empty page.

. . . . . . . .

It is nearing the end of the year. 

The two of you have spent it mostly together. Cuddling under a blanket, holding hands under the privacy of your school desks. 

You’ve caught yourself staring at all that is purely her. Memorizing the quirk of her lips when amused. The furrow of her brows when concentrating. And most of all. The smile that she gives you, as if a gift, which you gladly accept. The smile that graces her features when she looks at you and nobody else.

. . . . . . . .

It’s the last day of the year.

The two of you are hugging with an intimacy that is beyond appropriate between friends.

“I’ll miss you.” You break the long silence, feeling as if it is suffocating you.

“I won’t.” She whispers into your hair, for a second you panic, thinking this has all been a trick. But then she quickly adds, “I mean… Why should I endure ze pain of the separation from my best friend if I can just steal ‘er away to my house?” She smiles at the end, while you frown at the reminder that you are just that, friends. But when you process the rest of her sentence, you snap your head up to look into twinkling diamonds.

‘Really…?” You can’t help the hopeful tilt in your voice.

“Really.” She says it as if you cannot possibly refuse. She is horribly, beautifully right.

You smile so wide it hurts, hugging her as hard as you can. And you are rewarded with melodious laughter, which reverberates through your ears as a tune you promise yourself to hear again.

. . . . . . . .

Plans are made, and you wait eagerly for the last two weeks of the holidays, when you will go to her house, her room, with her. 

You can’t help wishing that maybe, just maybe, during your stay with her, you can become more than just friends. Because you have learnt to loathe that term, at least when it comes to her.

. . . . . . . .

Your dad is driving you over to her house. And when you get there, she is standing outside of the door, smiling gently. You don’t hesitate in opening the car door and rushing over to hug her around the waist. Ans she brings her arms around your shoulders, the two of you fit like two pieces of the same puzzle. Her chin resting on your head, which is tucked into the crook of her neck, inhaling flowers and a perfume you do not recognize. You wonder if she too, is appreciating the way you smell, but that thought is followed by a flicker of doubt. What if you smell horrible, or worse yet, what if she noticed your sniffing, and felt repulsed by it?

If that is true, she does not show it. Your doubt spreads like wildfire.

. . . . . . . .

The two of you were on her bed, the window showing a dark endless night, having forsaken sleep in favour of talking.

You were lounging on your back, with one hand propped behind your neck. While she was sitting next to you against the headboard, holding your free hand and applying dark blue nail polish to your nails. You had convinced her not to use pink, but she would not let you use black, saying that you were doing it for her. And how could you say no to that?

But the conversation had somehow arrived at discussing love interests. It hurt you hearing her talk about who she thought was attractive and who she wanted to take her out. Jealousy flowing like poison through your being.

“Well? Do you like anyone?” The question caught you off guard, and although you shake your head, you can’t help the blush that spreads from your neck to the tips of your ears.

“Ahah! So, who is zis lucky boy?” She seems to notice your disgusted look, cocking her head curiously before continuing, “Girl?” You look at her in alarm and start shaking your head futilely, but she reads you like a book.

“Who is it?” She asks, gently this time, without the previous teasing tone.

“You… You don’t know her.” You realize that there is definitely no point denying it, she knows you better than you know yourself, but your insecurity forces you to tell half-truths. After all, she can’t possibly feel the same. She cannot.

You are distracted from your musings when she starts laughing, "Oh, come on! I know all your friends!" That causes a flare of anger to burn hot in your blood, and fueled by the night's jealousy and the doubt that had been growing throughout your stay, you explode.

"Oh, so I'm not allowed to have friends you don't know about, am I?" You said it with a deep scowl, hating the implication that you are not capable of being independent.

"Zat's not what I said! And you know it!" She looks like she's going to cry despite her own scowl, and something tells you to just stop this and hold her, stop the tears and bring back the beautiful smile. But you are just too stubborn.

"Whatever." You mutter, turning away from her and pretending to be asleep. You hear her sniffle slightly, and it takes everything in you to not just apologise so that she doesn't cry, you hate seeing her cry, and this time it was all your fault. But you harden your resolve and listen to her laying down to sleep.

You only got a few hours’ sleep, having heard her silently crying into the pillows.

. . . . . . . .

The rest of your stay was filled with tension. The morning after your argument, you realised that you had been rash in your choice of words, but you couldn't let yourself apologise. And although the two of you did not yell after that night, every time you spoke it was as if the both of you were afraid of saying the wrong thing. And all your words were filled with emptiness, all smiles fake. You missed her smile. You missed the twinkle in her azure orbs, which seemed to have dimmed the more time passed. 

You stopped holding hands.

. . . . . . . .

When the school year started again. The two of you started slowly drifting apart. Stopped cuddling under the blankets. Stopped holding each other. You hadn't seen a real smile on her since the argument. She started hanging out with others more, and so did you.

The days dragged on at a snail's pace, you ignored her, and she ignored you. The warm, fuzzy feeling you got whenever around her, was replaced with emptiness at being separated from the one person that made you feel welcomed.

At some point, you apologized, and you truly meant it. And she seemed grateful for the words, but it did not change much. Sure, you didn't ignore each other, and you hung out a bit more. But there was still a void between you, it was like she was constantly thinking deeply. And every time she caught you looking at her, she would cock her head, the same way she did when she found out you liked a girl. 

And you had no idea what it meant.

Until that faithful day in the cafeteria.

. . . . . . . .

The two of you had a sort of schedule now. At times you would sit together, with you looking at her and her cocking her head curiously whenever she caught you. And at other times with you sitting at one table in the cafeteria, and her in another. In which case you would still look at her.

Today she was sitting at a table at the centre of the room, right in your line of vision. And, of course, you couldn't help looking at her. And, of course, she caught you, but this time she seemed to be determined to do something. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and she turned her head to kiss some boy who had been talking to her.

Jealousy crashed into you from all sides. You could not bear to see her kiss someone who isn't you, so you run out of the room, hearing footsteps following you.

A hand turns you around to face stormy blue eyes, “Were you jealous?” She asks, and you just can’t admit it, because what if she’ll be disgusted? But all the same, you do not drop your facade.

“Of course not!” You exclaim, she simply looks at you.

“Were. You. Jealous?” She says it firmer this time, and her eyes show a hint of desperation. And something in you just... Snaps. You slam her against the nearest wall, pinning her hands beside her head, not caring who sees. 

"You want me to say it?" You whisper huskily, she nods slowly, and you rush in to catch her lips. It is exactly like you'd imagined it to be, and better. Hard, but passionate all the same. She opens her mouth to let you explore, there is no battle, just the caress of tongues. You pull apart breathlessly. But you move to her ear slowly, taking her earlobe between your teeth to tug gently, she moans breathily. But you release her ear to say- "I'm jealous." You move to her neck, nibbling, and she moves to expose more skin, allowing you to start marking her properly. "And I don't want you kissing anyone but me." You make a path to her lips, kissing her to make sure she knows that you're being genuine. "You're mine." You whisper against her lips, and the growl that leaves your lips surprises even you.

But then you realise that she just might not want to be yours. "That is... If you want to be?" You murmur, without the previous confidence.

"Please." She whimpers, so quiet that you nearly don't hear it.

You smile shyly, "Really?"

"Please. Now is not ze time for shyness. I want you to be commanding again." You smirk at her words, glad that you didn't cross a line.

You start moving her to an open classroom, "Beg for it." You bring back the husky voice, hoping to please her, and commanding her makes it even better. At this point you're in the classroom, pinning her against the door, attacking her neck with fervour. "I want to fuck you." The obscenity seems to please her greatly, as she groans and arches her back.

"Please. Please fuck me. I want you to- oh shit - I want you to fuck me." She begged, so you ripped her shirt from her body, pleased to find no bra underneath, and went for her breasts. You scraped your teeth against her nipples, causing her to cry out, so you continued lavishing her nipples with licks and bites.

"Lower." She pushed feebly at your head, trying to get you on your knees, but all you did was bring yourself to gaze at her meaningfully while slowing down your ministrations on her breasts. "Please." She breathes, and you start making a path down her stomach, kissing every inch, eventually finding yourself on your knees. You slowly unbutton her jeans, bringing them down to rest on the floor and then doing the same with her panties.

When you attack her centre, she doesn't hesitate giving encouragement. Not that you need it. 

Sometime later, after the two of you were just a mess of sweaty bodies laying on the class floor, she's laying against your chest with an arm flung across your stomach and holding your hand, and your free arm around her shoulders.

"Does this mean we're not friends anymore?" You inquire, still afraid that she'll inevitably reject you.

"No, we are much more zen zat." 

You went back to holding hands. Forever, and ever, and ever. For as long as you lived really.

End

**Author's Note:**

> Oki that is it! Hope you had fun this Fleurmione week!


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